Bulfinch’s Mythology

now that, and twice came close to me, but could not find me. ‘Arethusa! Arethusa!’ he cried. Oh, how I trembled⁠—like a lamb that hears the wolf growling outside the fold. A cold sweat came over me, my hair flowed down in streams; where my foot stood there was a pool. In short, in less time than it takes to tell it I became a fountain. But in this form Alpheus knew me and attempted to mingle his stream with mine. Diana cleft the ground, and I, endeavoring to escape him, plunged into the cavern, and through the bowels of the earth came out here in Sicily. While I passed through the lower parts of the earth, I saw your Proserpine. She was sad, but no longer showing alarm in her countenance. Her look was such as became a queen⁠—the queen of Erebus; the powerful bride of the monarch of the realms of the dead.”
When Ceres heard this, she stood for a while like one stupefied; then turned her chariot towards heaven, and hastened to present herself before the throne of Jove. She told the story of her bereavement, and implored Jupiter to interfere to procure the restitution of her daughter. Jupiter consented on one condition, namely, that Proserpine should not during her stay in the lower world have taken any food; otherwise, the Fates forbade her release. Accordingly, Mercury was sent, accompanied by Spring, to demand Proserpine of Pluto. The wily monarch consented; but, alas! the maiden had taken a pomegranate which Pluto offered her, and had sucked the sweet pulp from a few of the seeds. This was enough to prevent her complete release; but a compromise was made, by which she was to pass half the time with her mother, and the rest with her husband Pluto.
Ceres allowed herself to be pacified with this arrangement, and restored the earth to her favor. Now she remembered Celeus and his family, and her promise to his infant son Triptolemus. When the boy grew up, she taught him the use of the plough, and how to sow the seed. She took him in her chariot, drawn by winged dragons, through all the countries of the earth, imparting to mankind valuable grains, and the knowledge of agriculture. After his return, Triptolemus built a magnificent temple to Ceres in Eleusis, and established the worship of the goddess, under the name of the Eleusinian mysteries, which, in the splendor and solemnity of their observance, surpassed all other religious celebrations among the Greeks.

There can be little doubt of this story of Ceres and Proserpine being an allegory. Proserpine signifies the seed-corn which when cast into the ground lies there concealed⁠—that is, she is carried off by the god of the underworld. It reappears⁠—that is, Proserpine is restored to her mother. Spring leads her back to the light of day.

Milton alludes to the story of Proserpine in Paradise Lost, Book IV:

“… Not that fair field

Of Enna where Proserpine gathering flowers,

Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis

Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain

To seek her through the world⁠—

… might with this Paradise

Of Eden strive.”

Hood, in his Ode to Melancholy, uses the same allusion very beautifully:

“Forgive, if somewhile I forget,

In woe to come the present bliss;

As frighted Proserpine let fall

Her flowers at the sight of Dis.”

The River Alpheus does in fact disappear underground, in part of its course, finding its way through subterranean channels till it again appears on the surface. It was said that the Sicilian fountain Arethusa was the same stream, which, after passing under the sea, came up again in Sicily. Hence the story ran that a cup thrown into the Alpheus appeared again in Arethusa. It is this fable of the underground course of Alpheus that Coleridge alludes to in his poem of Kubla Khan:

“In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree,

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man,

Down to a sunless sea.”

In one of Moore’s juvenile poems he thus alludes to the same story, and to the practice of throwing garlands or other light objects on his stream to be carried downward by it, and afterwards reproduced at its emerging:

“O my beloved, how divinely sweet

Is the pure joy when kindred spirits meet!

Like him the river god, whose waters flow,

With love their only light, through caves below,

Wafting in triumph all the flowery braids

And festal rings, with which Olympic maids

Have decked his current, as an offering meet

To lay at Arethusa’s shining feet.

Think, when he meets at last his fountain bride,

What perfect love must thrill the blended tide!

Each lost in each, till mingling into one,

Their lot the same for shadow or for sun,

A type of true love, to the deep they run.”

The following extract from Moore’s Rhymes on the Road gives an account of a celebrated picture by Albano, at Milan, called a Dance of Loves:

“ ’Tis for the theft of Enna’s flower from earth

These urchins celebrate their dance of mirth,

Round the green tree, like fays upon a heath;⁠—

Those that are nearest linked in order bright,

Cheek after cheek, like rosebuds in a wreath;

And those more distant showing from beneath

The others’ wings their little eyes of light.

While see! among the clouds, their eldest brother,

But just flown up, tells with a smile of bliss,

This prank of Pluto to his charmed mother,

Who turns to greet the tidings with a kiss.”


Glaucus and Scylla
Glaucus was a fisherman. One day he had drawn his nets to land, and had taken a great many fishes of various kinds. So he emptied his net, and proceeded to sort the fishes on the grass. The place where he stood was a beautiful island in the river, a solitary spot, uninhabited, and not used for pasturage of cattle, nor ever visited by any but himself. On a sudden, the fishes, which had been laid on the grass, began to revive and move their fins as if they were in